


Breathing Underwater

by jazzypizzaz



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: (but also AU), Angst, Betrayal, M/M, Post-Canon, The Ascent-like shenanigans, air and water and ice and fire, idk feelings and shit and then they kiss, too many metaphors about the elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-03 11:26:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8710795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzypizzaz/pseuds/jazzypizzaz
Summary: They were right when they said we were breathing underwater; Out of place all the time in a world that wasn’t mine to take...They were right when they said we should never meet our heroes.
Quark and Odo are stuck walking through a remote Bajoran prairie together with no one but each other for company.Written for the DS9 Reverse Bang for this art piecethis is the playlist I wrote to; it has heavy-handed thematic elements, just like the weather metaphors in this fic.





	1. the summer plains and the great sea

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [favorite cliche #39430943: they are kissing underwater for no apparent reason](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/244537) by fluorescentbrains. 



> the bit about Quark hiding on Bajor because of Morn's hair growth stuff post-canon is based on an [excerpt](http://ds9shameblog.tumblr.com/post/144831878754/jazzypizzaz-death-star510-so-like-i-dont) from the book Lives of Dax

Quark lets out a long, bored sigh, fanning himself with the wide-brimmed hat he’s been hiding under for the past week and a half.  He twists his hand to wipe off beads of sweat dripping into his eyes, and as he does several strands of the woven salam grass comprising the hat come loose and poke into his fingers.

 

“Ow,” he says to no one, the sound hanging dead in the stuffy air of the empty shack.  

 

Well, the travel advertisement called it a “rustic vacation getaway,” and really Quark should have known better than to expect Bajorans to have any basic sense of luxury.  A pantry of non-replicated local foods and a real brick fireplace he had been expecting, sure, but he  _ did _ assume it would have climate control.  Who, in the 24th century, doesn’t see electricity as a basic necessity?  

 

_ Bajorans, _ apparently _. _

 

The price is right though.  Free, he assumes, since the shuttle that is supposed to take him to the city of Shekaal where he can catch a freighter back to the station is now three days late, and there’s no way he’s going to reward such unprofessionalism with his hard-earned latinum.

 

Of course, he had expected someone to come looking for him  _ before  _ the shuttle arrived (which would, as it happens, also let him skip out on the bill).  That no one has yet presses down on him like a weight, anxiety and disappointment outweighed by the doldrums of depression.

 

Sure he picked a remote obscure location -- it has the good excuse of hosting a rare strain of flempak fungus a dealer had assured him would be effective on Lurians -- but he had thought Colonel Kira would welcome the challenge of tracking him down.  He had put a lot of effort into leaving a trail of conflicting innuendos about his involvement in a dangerous Bajoran smuggling ring, and surely  _ someone _ would be concerned about his disappearance by now.  If he had pulled this stunt a year ago...

 

Quark lets out a long sigh, stopping that thought in its tracks before he gets too overcome by the nostalgia and betrayal that has been haunting him.  (The breeze of his breath is probably the only airflow in the whole surrounding wasteland.)  He pats his pocket to make sure that the small bottle is still there.  Morn, at least, had better appreciate the efforts he’s going through to get him a nice thick head of hair.

 

He slumps in the wicker chair, feeling more than a little sorry for himself and for this last ditch effort to recapture what he’d lost, when his ears pick up the sound of a skimmer sputtering over the rocky savannah.  The engine makes a terrible whirring noise, fizzles and dies, then a low familiar voice grumbles out several Bajoran curse words.

 

“ _ Odo _ ?!” Quark shouts.  

 

He jumps to his feet and scrambles out the door, a lightness in his chest rising like the heat waves off the paved entryway outside as he lays his eyes on a particular grumpy face.  

 

Odo, growling at the smoking skimmer, doesn’t even look up and just like that Quark comes crashing back to earth like a downpour.

 

Quark hasn’t seen the ex-security chief since… well, since before he betrayed everyone, to put it bluntly.  

 

(There hadn’t been definite proof of Odo leaking Federation secrets, as the prevailing rumors dictated, but he had joined the enemy all the same, and not even for a decent bribe, which would at least be forgivable.)

 

“Is Kira here?  Deputy Saref?” Quark says bitterly, rubbernecking to look inside the skimmer windows.  “Someone who isn’t a genocidal fascist?  Or are you coming to take me to a Dominion detention camp?”

 

“We’re at peace, Quark.  There was a treaty,” Odo says, a subtle weariness weaving through the words.  Someone else might hear only exasperation, but Quark had spent the better part of ten years decoding the various intonations of his security chief’s voice.  This was a heavy tiredness, one Quark had only encountered on rare occasions: when they first met on Terok Nor, when the Founders turned him solid, when Odo rejoined his people that fateful day.

 

Quark folds his arms across his chest, not sure what to make of any of this.  “It looks like your engine overheated,” Quark says.

 

“I can  _ see  _ that,” Odo snaps, turning away from Quark sharply, and several drops of liquid splatter on Quark’s face.  

 

Quark flinches, then wipes off his face in a double take, craning his neck at the sky with excitement -- a light  _ glebbening _ rain would cool everything off nicely -- but as before there’s not a cloud in sight.  Quark scuttles closer to Odo, who has abandoned Quark to poke at a control panel on the side of the vehicle, and to his amazement he can hear a slight sizzling off Odo’s exterior.  He squints in the sunlight, but sure enough Odo appears to have the texture of a slightly melted jumja stick.

 

“It looks like  _ you’re _ overheating.  Maybe that temper of yours will finally combust you into smithereens,”  Quark says.  Like all the Federation ships did in the war, ships full of good root-beer-drinking customers that exploded under fire from Dominion ships.  There’s a stabbing in his chest, and he can’t help but add, “You can’t win back Kira if you incinerate yourself, you know.  Not that she’d ever forgive you anyway.”

 

Odo shoots a glare at him, and for a moment Quark really does believe Odo might burst into flames.  Although, a shapeshifter probably  _ could _ turn into fire, but how does that work exactly?  Would it still have to burn fuel?  Would bits flake off from the Odo-fire into Odo-ash?  Quark fans himself with the hat; the sun must be making him delirious.

 

“Where is the Colonel anyway?  Did she decide she couldn’t stand being in the same vehicle as a traitor like you?”

 

“No one else is coming, Quark.  No one else cares,” Odo says, and this hits Quark in the chest like a deep boom of thunder.  “No one else was concerned about unravelling your convoluted scheme, so it’s up to me to haul you away from whatever pathetic, petty crimes you have planned, by myself.” 

 

That tired tone still underlies Odo’s voice, detracting from the joy of these familiar threats.  Any other time Quark might retort with a cheery insult about how if Odo were a better security chief he could have disrupted Quark’s plan before he left the station, then Quark would have joked about how touched he was Odo felt such concern he followed him to a backwards corner of Bajor.  

 

This isn’t any other time, though, and Quark stands there silent and deflated.  No one cares what kind of magnificent trouble he gets himself into these days, not even when he disappears for a week at a time.  No one except the one person he never expected to see again.

 

Odo sighs in an eerie imitation of how Quark felt earlier and closes a control panel on the skimmer.  “We’re going to have to walk,” he says.

 

He about-faces and starts to head off east, not directly towards Shekaal, and Quark watches him go for a second, before yelling after him.  “ _ Wait _ , wait Odo, Odo wait!”

 

Odo stops, another sigh rattling through him and shaking off more droplets.  “What  _ is _ it Quark, I don’t plan to spend any longer with you than necessary to get back to the station.”

 

“I’m… expecting a shuttle soon.”  Quark says, resolving to stay his ground.  “I’m not going with you.”

 

Odo scoffs.  “I met your shuttle back in Shekaal.  I told him his services weren’t necessary.”

 

“You  _ what _ ?  Then why didn’t you rent a better vehicle?  The least you could do after everything is spring for a little luxury.  We’ll be walking for  _ hours _ .”

 

“If we leave now and keep a decent pace we should cross a main traffic route before nightfall.  Unless you have communications capabilities.”

 

“Shekaal is a little more northwards than you were going; I don’t want to end up walking longer than I have to, with  _ you _ .”

 

“As if you’re some kind of navigational expert...”  Odo snorts derisively, but then does a small double take, glancing between the northeast and east.  He draws up his posture, as if shaking off any doubts.  “I know where I’m going, Quark.”

 

“If you say so… Did you realize you’re melting?  If you dissolve into goo all over the grass, I’m not wiping you up and carrying you in a bucket the rest of the way.”

 

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” Odo bites, a hard edge stopping any further inquiries into his strange physical state.

 

Quark shuffles for a moment assessing his options, and Odo taps his foot impatiently.  “Let me pack up a few things then.  Humanoids require food and water, you know.”

 

After several arguments about the necessity of various trinkets Quark wanted to carry with him, they head out across the arid plains, and the heat of high noon beating down on their weary backs is as suffocating as the silence between them.  

 

\--------

 

_ [Two weeks ago _ ]

 

Odo slipped into his old humanoid form with hardly a conscious thought and stepped onto the rocky shore island amidst the vastness of the Great Link around him.

 

For as much as he had stressed about his body when living among the solids -- about the smoothness of his nose, about the proportions of the limbs -- now even after abandoning it for being part of the great ocean these past months (years?) the form came without effort.  Odo had been trapped in himself before -- confined to this single solid form during his last banishment, yes, but also isolated from his people -- and he was hardly surprised at the melancholy comfort of this new separation.  The humanoid form wasn’t the totality of him by itself, but also it was Odo, and Odo was him in a way that the Link wasn’t.

 

He gazed out for possibly the last time at the sea of beings, of Being.  This communal paradise that was no longer for him who had become the grit in the oyster of its echoing shell.  

 

_ As long as you remain connected to them you are not part of us.  We are one and we are the Sea and they are not, but we are not all.  Part of our Being lies elsewhere, and so does yours, so you are tasked to find it _ .   _ You shall not return until you do _ .

 

That was what she had said -- the Female Changeling, although in reality she was They and was The Link itself -- when she cast him out.  The abstract words-that-were-not-words of the Link wrapped around him and through him until he was suffocating with the weight of them.  Then, all at once, they retreated like the tide, edges of their consciousness pulling away until Odo was left alone on the seabed, a drop orphaned from its ocean.

  
Not knowing where else to go, untethered and adrift, he left to the station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the bit about Quark hiding on Bajor because of Morn's hair growth stuff post-canon is based on an [excerpt](http://ds9shameblog.tumblr.com/post/144831878754/jazzypizzaz-death-star510-so-like-i-dont) from the book Lives of Dax


	2. disappearing, drifting, suffocating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a change of pace with some introspective Odo angst on the station, before we head back to the crankiest pilgrimage on Bajor. 
> 
> thanks to [autisticandroids](autisticandroids.tumblr.com) for help beta-ing the rest of this fic.

[ _Over the two weeks before Odo meets up with Quark on Bajor_ ]

The farther Odo flew from the Link, away from the roots that nourished him, the more he imagined himself withering.  In the ship’s cabin, he unconsciously kept reaching out for connection around him, but there was only empty air, so on he floated through space, contemplating his situation.

Odo had had his chance to be one with his people, and he had blown it.  

When he had connected again with the Female Changeling late in the war, everything had seemed so simple.  Odo was the Link; the Link was him.  To deny that seemed as silly as it would be for a humanoid to deny their arm.  The aching emptiness, the unceasing loneliness that ebbed and flowed -- at some times only nipped at his edges but at others carved out a vacant space inside him until he could think of nothing else -- that had disappeared all at once with the Link.  

It was sheer bliss; it was everything Odo could ever need; it was heaven.

And he might never be part of it again.

\---------

When Odo stepped onto the station, he was a ghost.

He hadn’t told anyone he was coming and walking down the Promenade he was subjected to a few double takes, but with so many new faces rushing around most hadn’t blinked at one more.   They’re busy with post-war rebuilding efforts, Odo realized with a flash of guilt.  

As Odo stood rubbernecking at all the commotion, Nog almost bumped into him, in a hurry somewhere, and his eyes widened in surprise. “You,” he said with a clench of his jaw, and Odo nodded.  “Are you here on official Founders business?  Do you require audience with the Colonel?” he said, overly formal, and Odo shook his head.  Nog opened his mouth, but said nothing more, then about-faced, marching back in the direction he came.

Odo kept his shifted posture straight, hands clasped tightly behind his back, shoulders rigid.  Not all the faces were new after all.  He leaned against the railing, unsure where to go next, and while the crowds bustled on, he stood there, steadfast.  

A Cardassian flicked his tongue at Odo, ridges flushed black in anger, and jerked towards him as if to start a brawl, but his associate shook her head and pulled him away.

Several Bajorans that recognized him scuttled out of the way, giving him wide berth, their faces wary and alarmed.

Odo didn’t react.

Then Ezri tapped him on the arm, her mouth twittering at rapid speed, and Odo nodded, letting the nervous jumble of words wash over him, but when he made no attempt to further the conversation, she seemed relieved.  “Goodbye,” she said, and “maybe I’ll see you around,” and then she left as quick as she came.

He had never known her anyway.  

He was a mountain, and the busy winds of the station crowds blustered around him --  ripping through the trees, blowing seeds to fertile earth, carrying clouds to water gardens -- but these winds did not affect a mountain.  His peak stood alone among the heavens, and while the winds would wear away at it pebble by pebble, no life would grow on its barren rockface.

So Odo stood, wearing the image of a humanoid, more aware than ever he was not one of them.

\--------

 _We can never truly trust those who will always be separate, those who can never truly be Understood in the way of the Link and thus will inevitably turn against Us,_ they had said.

(But Odo saw the look of shock on his solids’ faces, the crew of DS9, as he left with the Female Founder that day.  He had pitied them in the moment, thought they just didn’t understand, but it occurred to him now, separated from the Link’s constant barrage of claims to superiority, that Odo was the one who the solids should not have trusted, not the other way around.)

 

\--------

 

 _“_ Collaborator,” Kira hissed at him some time later, the word dripping like ice from her lips.

 

She walked towards him, at a steady pace but with a rare hesitancy in her step.  He caught her eye, and she froze in her tracks.

 

He had expected yelling, rage, the full force of the burning righteous inferno that was always brewing within her just waiting like dry kindle for a match.  He had expected that righteous anger, welcomed it even as if it could burn away his transgressions, but instead all she gave him was that one icy word like the sharp frost of air from a Breen cooling unit.  

 

That wasn’t the worst part.  

 

She paused afterwards, waited with her face blank as snow like she was expecting an excuse, a reason, anything.  She had wanted to give him a chance to speak.  But he stood there frozen, knowing that she was right, and he had nothing to say for himself.  

 

That was the worst part -- that she paused, as if Odo could tell her how to forgive him.

 

He nodded slightly.  Her face fell, a sheet of ice from a glacier, then she stalked off, movements jagged.

 

Odo unconsciously shifted into a lumpy approximation of an Andorian sheep-hound before realizing the cold emptiness inside him couldn’t be warmed by a woolly coat.

 

\-----------

 

As a last ditch effort, Odo stopped by the bar.  If there was one place Odo-as-himself might still needed, it would be chasing down that damn criminal.  Deep Space Nine might have its own security force, but no one knew how to (metaphorically) sniff out the schemes of its resident filth-slinging scoundrel half as well as Odo.  

“Quark?” the Ferengi waiter Klank said with some surprise but little concern at Odo’s growling inquiry.  “Who knows, who cares.  He left me in charge not long ago, and I’ll be damned if I don’t make the most of it while he’s gone.  With any luck, he won’t come back at all.  But uhhh, if you happen to see him, don’t tell him I said that.”  He slipped a strip of latinum into Odo’s hand with a wink.  “Now excuse me, I have business to attend to.”

 

Odo had been leaning on a railing, and with the surprise of that news -- he thought of all people he could count on that little ear troll to still be around causing trouble -- his forearm lost solidity, dripping around the bars, and if were a solid he would have lost his balance.  He sloshed back upright, hastily reformed the arm, and glanced around.  A small Andorian child blinked at him, as if not sure he had seen correctly, but otherwise Odo had avoided drawing attention.  The Ferengi had already scurried off to tend to new customers.

 

Some preliminary investigation among bar employees and customers led Odo to conclude that Quark either: a) was off on a road trip to track down unlicensed Bolian crystalware, possibly at an auction on Rigel VII, b) was taking an extended vacation on any number of tropical planets finally basking in post-war relaxation, or c) had been kidnapped by an underground Bajoran smuggling ring.

 

So basically, Odo had no idea where Quark was.

 

Immersed in the frustration of this conundrum, Odo growled at the lack of solid leads.  Whatever Quark was up to, he had left a convoluted mess in his wake, and Odo would have to unravel it without his previous resources as Constable, without any authority over the investigation, without the benefit of social contacts or assistance.  This might not have daunted Odo before, but at this first obstacle his lack of will drained along with any confidence in his abilities.  Maybe he was rusty from being away from his work for so long, or maybe he was never as good at this as he had thought he had been.  He had just as much of an idea on how to find Quark as he did on how to ask for forgiveness from Kira, or how to fulfill the obtuse mission the Founders bestowed on him as part of his banishment.   

 

And what would it matter anyway?  What concern was it to a changeling like Odo that one small solid was wreaking havoc somewhere?  No one on the station cared about Quark’s absence, so why should Odo when Odo didn’t even belong here anyway?

 

(Why would Quark react to him any differently than Kira did, when he had left them both behind?)

 

This wouldn’t give him the purpose he sought or help accomplish his task from the Founders, so why bother.

 

\---------

 

Odo was disappearing, and each time he noticed portions of himself unconsciously becoming translucent it was harder to resolidify into opaqueness.  

 

Even when it was hours until he needed to regenerate, the length of time he spent in his humanoid form felt exhausting, the shifting firmness of flesh more difficult each minute.  He felt overall insubstantial, and the memories of a security officer keeping the chaos of the station under his tight order were distant and hazy.  He had no job to perform, no crewmembers dependent on his involvement.  

 

He had cut himself loose and now severed, Odo with his poor attempts at humanoid mimicry had no place here.  

 

Upon linking with the people who were Himself, the notion that he could ever hope to feel at home among solids was revealed to be a silly notion, a willful fantasy.  It wasn’t until he had been immersed in the Ocean of his people that he realized how much the clarity of purpose he had had when among the solids was an integral part of him.  After the honeymoon bliss of constant community in the Link wore out, he had realized he felt as incomplete and alien as ever, even among Himself, the Link of All Consciousness.  There had been points before Odo joined the Link when he had the dim recollection of this station carving out a space in its community especially for him, so he retreated back to his former humanoid world, hoping for home.

 

However, as he stood in contemplative melancholy -- Odo the mountain, the ghost, the imposter -- and gazed out at the steel railings and the mechanical doors and chairs for bipeds, the isolationist condemnation of the Founders didn’t seem so harsh.  All the physical structures of the station catered to the limits of humanoid bodies, as did the entire concept of societal organization within it.  This place was not built for him.

 

Odo didn’t belong among the disconnected mobs of Bajorans and Cardassians and Humans with their fixed-state forms and short lives and disconnected consciousness, but he didn’t belong among the Founders either.  He didn't belong anywhere.

 

Overwhelmed by the scope of his isolation, Odo’s grounding in reality slipped sideways --  

 

_He was in the various tubes and boxes Dr Mora had poured him into, forced into shapes that didn’t fit him._

(deformed, contorted, coerced)

_He was trapped on the lift with Lwaxana, no escape but to show his most private, hidden side to her._

 (no escape)

_He was on the Obsidian Order ship with Garak, the device humming a frequency that prevented him from regenerating, his secret ache for home pouring out him, a desperate confession._

 (captured, cornered, confined)

 _He was on the shore of the Great Link, imprisoned in a solid form as atonement, into a humanoid shape that would never be truly him, lungs gasping for air with the pressure of nothingness closing in on him._  

 (can't breathe, can't breathe)

_He was sloshing around his bucket, alone, diminishing in size, in self, withering from loneliness._

(smaller and smaller and smaller and)

 

Sensory input from his surroundings distorted as he lost his grasp on his physical structure.  Walls caved in on him, the intense pressure of confinement obstructing him on all sides.  The flashbacks of this intense claustrophobia almost felt safe in their deep familiarity, but in them he was suffocating, drowning in the rocky waters of anxiety, as sure as a hyper-ventilating humanoid would be.  

 

“To become a thing is to know a thing,” sure, but it’s never to _be_ that thing.  No one shape could ever suit him, so Odo, struggling to get himself under control, turned his attention to the vastness of the stars through the upper deck porthole window.  He wasn’t imprisoned, he could go anywhere beyond, he could be anyone. This opposite agoraphobia -- to be formless, unwanted, adrift -- was worse and did little to ground him: _He was floating through the void of space, nowhere to go, its openness as limiting as the smallest test tube --_

 

Then Odo latched onto the sight of Bajor, a planet of rock and water hanging steadfastly among the blackness of space, round and verdant.  The white and blue and green slowly swirling hypnotized him, so that he unconsciously leaned closer in, drawn to the sight.  Odo didn’t believe in the Prophets as deities of course, and certainly not the godhood of the Founders, or any other of the myriad humanoid philosophies about fate or divine intervention in the physical world, but he _knew_ that Bajor was calling to him.  

 

Call it an ex-constable’s intuitive hunch or call it desperation to believe in some external mysticism, Odo set out to the nearby planet on the next shuttle.  The closer he got, the greater the pull of the planet was, and even while droplets formed on the facsimile of his solid body, its rigidity still devolving, Odo felt more whole than he had been since this whole ordeal began.

  
If he was to reestablish any sense of identity or purpose in the world -- to heal his fractured self, to find his misplaced Being -- Odo knew down to the jelly of his sloshing insides that it was on Bajor.


	3. a storm brewing

“Quark, wake up, Quark!” Odo voice drifts into Quark’s consciousness, and his cheek starts to sting.

 

“ _ Ow _ .  Why are you always so eager to hit me.” Quark says, fluttering his eyes open.  All he sees is white and burning.  “I’m-- I’m blind!  Odo is that you?  What did you do?  I’m blind!”

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Odo says, with a note of panic, and a splash falls on Quark’s cheek.

 

Odo looms over him further, blocking the sunlight.  Quark’s vision swims and refocuses on that blurry smooth face --  _ oh another one of these,  _ Quark thinks,  _ but wait if I’m dreaming then why  _ \-- and he squints, shielding his eyes with his hand.

 

“Odo!”  Quark says cheerfully.  Another sticky glob falls on his cheek.

 

“Well, if you’re done, we had better keep moving.”

 

“Are you  _ crying _ ?”  Quark wipes at his cheek.  

 

“I’m not capable of that.  The only crying I’d do is if you die before I can put you in a jail cell,” Odo says with derision, but his eyes flick over Quark, checking for signs of further illness.  Several more drops of Odo splash onto Quark.  It’s rather gross, and Quark would much prefer one of the prairie’s infamous sudden rainstorms than a dripping Odo, but since when does Quark ever get what he wants.  Quark squishes the gooey substance between his fingers.  Curious…  

 

After walking in silence for hours (okay maybe just  _ one _ hour), the initial shock and hurt at seeing Odo again evaporates from Quark in the dehydrating heat of the sun.  In its place, for the moment, is fatigue and boredom, neither of which can be alleviated by surly silence.  Anyway Odo is probably  _ enjoying _ the rare experience of a mute Quark, and Quark has no intent to make this easy on him.  

 

Quark quirks an eyeridge at Odo, then pops his goo-laden finger into his mouth.

 

“ _ What _ are you doing, Quark?”  Odo says, face contorted in horror, and Quark had forgotten how amusing it was to gross out Odo.

 

Quark shrugs and gives a winning grin.  “I always wanted to know what you tasted like.  Do you know how many drinks I’ve stuck my finger in, thinking it might be you?  I figure it’s the only way to tell which cocktail is Odo on the rocks.”

 

It’s surprisingly easy to lapse back into their familiar antagonistic conversational patterns, and Quark hates himself for that, but if anyone asks it’s the sun affecting his mind.  (Which, considering he just passed out, and there’s still a dull swimming ache in his head, it probably is.)  Well, maybe if he annoys Odo enough he can goad him into apologizing at the very least.  Not like that could change the past.

 

Quark, lying on the ground still and reluctant to move, continues licking at his finger dramatically.  Odo scoffs and rolls his eyes, then sloshes to a standing position, up from where he’d been kneeling.

 

Quark, fuzzy headed and a bit nauseous, slowly sits himself up then waggles an outstretched hand at Odo.  “Help me up will ya?”

 

Odo pushes a hara cat skin bag, pilfered from the shack, into Quark’s hand.  “Drink more water.  I’m not carrying you.”

 

“I seem to remember a time--”  Quark rasps, then pauses to take a long gulp of the water.  He splashes the rest of the bag over his scalp, then puts the salam grass hat back on his head from where it had fallen off.  (If there’s no rain, he’ll have to make his own.)  A light breeze picks up, rattling the grasses around him.  Oh, that was better.  “Remember a time where I pulled you up a mountain on a stretcher.  With no benefit to myself, I might add.”

 

Odo snickers.  “You said you were going to  _ eat  _ me.”

 

“Well at this rate I’m going to end up  _ drinking _ you.  What’s up with that?”  Quark says, gesturing to the bits of melty Odo running down the shapeshifter’s body.

 

“If you haven’t noticed it’s warm out.  I don’t exactly venture planetside often,” Odo says in a clipped tone, but it’s a poor explanation.

 

“Hmmph.”  Quark decides not to press the matter.  

 

It’s true enough that Odo (like Quark, in fact) has spent most of his life in climate conditioned space stations, ships, and better-designed buildings than that Bajoran shack.  Maybe the Changeling body isn’t as stable as they all assumed.  Quark’s no scientist -- and sure, he’s never been great at calming the worrywort moths fluttering in his stomach -- but if Odo is determined to carry on, Quark can ignore it.  For now.  

 

There is, in fact, a lot about their current situation he’s not sure about, so who knows what’s really going on, altogether.  Why isn’t Odo with the Link, if it’s so much better than life among humanoids?  Why, after a war and months of peace, did Odo just now decide to track down an inferior solid like Quark?  

 

Quark isn’t sure if he’s ready for these answers.

 

Better he change the subject then.  “There’s none of this infernal skyfire on a proper planet like Ferenginar.  Give me a clankplaking thunderstorm instead any day.  And, might I remind you, we wouldn’t be in this mess if you had just let my shuttle guy come and get me.”  

 

“That was  _ his _ vehicle I rented.  You’d still have had to walk.”   Odo starts plodding onwards again, and Quark scrambles after him, hoping that Odo remembers which way they’re headed because at this point every direction is an endless sea of grass and rocks.  

 

“But at least I wouldn’t be with  _ you _ .”

 

“And if you’re so warm, you can take off one of those layers.”

 

“Odo, are you trying to get me naked?  Tsk, tsk I doubt Kira would approve,” Quark says, filled with warmness at Odo’s eye roll, but it hardens into a rock in his stomach.  If only it were that easy…  Quark loosens his collar a bit, and chatters on nervously.  “But no, I can’t.  My skin would fry up like a slug steak on a grill.  It’s delicate and requires very expensive products, and I’m not about to waste latinum because of bad advice from a freak with no skin of his own.”   

 

That should be enough to convince Odo; Quark is not about to strip his clothes along with his self-respect, even though the brocade on his undershirt is starting to chafe, and honestly if he were by himself he’d risk a sunburn and give away all his products to charity for the chance of a refreshing breeze.  Quark has to maintain some dignity around Odo, though.

 

“Well, I can’t have you passing out again.”  Odo grumps, then a smug grin spreads across his face.  His torso thins and shoots up, his arms flatten and connect, and before Quark can blink he’s under the shade of an Odo-brella.

 

“Hey!”  Quark shrieks.

 

Odo snickers from above the cap, then slides his head down so that it’s on his skinny torso-pole, eye level with Quark.

 

“Stop that!”  Quark scuttles out from under the shade, squints in the sunlight for a moment, then ducks back under.  

 

The pleasantness of having a respite from the glaring sun because of  _ Odo _ rankles Quark.  Irritation rises in him like lightning, and his amusement from the brief oasis of familiar bickering fizzles out.  “Fine, do your weird shape-shifter stuff, but I’m not playing your games.  Don’t think Kira will ever not be mad at you; that woman can hold a grudge.  Bringing me back to the station in handcuffs -- on false charges, I’m sure -- as an offering for the Colonel won’t mend how you screwed everything up.”

 

Quark pointedly looks away from the conflicted expression on Odo’s face, scowling instead at all the stupid grass they continue to trudge through.  The Odo-head watches him for a moment, then grimaces and slides back up above the cap.  

 

Quark stews in rising disgruntlement under Odo’s careful shade as they walk, and he’s so wrapped up in the dark clouds gathering in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice the ones overhead.

 

Every piece of this situation is too much, and the winds of a sickening tempest whirl angrily inside him with every step he takes beside Odo.  

 

Quark is tired and hot and his eyes are dried out from the sun and there are small gnats that keep landing on his nose and even the cool wind starting to whip through the plains only serves to try to blow away his hat, and there’s now nothing Quark can even do about any of the poor decisions that led to this unfortunate journey except to accept that  _ traitor’s _ assistance in making it back to the station.

 

“I’m tired of all this  _ walking _ ,” Quark whines, trying to pretend his physical discomfort is his biggest concern.  Odo grunts from above the cap.  “Nothing but grass grass grass, not even a puddle for a little variety.  I don’t even  _ like _ trees but I’m  _ sick _ of staring at the same thing hour after hour.  Nature is so  _ boring _ how do Bajorans stand it.”

 

The  _ nerve _ of Odo showing up and rescuing Quark from his predicament, just like old times, is so  _ infuriating _ .  Odo got to have his fun living in a puddle of pompous overbearing “gods” while the rest of them fought for their lives.  And  _ now _ thinks he can show up and can pick back up where he left off!  It’s simply unacceptable.

 

“What I wouldn’t give for an ice cold slug juice right now.  When I get back to the station, I’m not drinking plain water for a week.   _ And _ I’m charging  _ you _ for the expense.  Millipede juice, Samarian sunsets, Tarkalean tea, springwine… One of everything in my storeroom, all served ice cold.” Quark sips from the water bag greedily and tries to distract himself with dreams of glasses sweating with condensation.  Odo gives a loud sigh above.

 

Quark wishes he could keep pretending that Odo had never really cared.  It would still hurt, but that at least would be bearable.  But  _ no _ , Odo has robbed even that small bit of closure from him.  

Instead, Odo has the  _ gall _ to give Quark those sad expressions, to speak in that tired voice, like it might actually matter to him what Quark says.  

 

“And what’s up with all this sun?  All I hear is about yadda yadda the Doryen Prairie is known for its moody weather, but once  _ I’m _ out here it’s broiling sun the whole time.”

 

It’s too much for a lonely, dried-out Ferengi to bear.  Quark plods on, fuming, his stomach thundering with resentment (and probably heat exhaustion), and he’s so blinded by the storm in his eyes that he doesn’t notice the path in front of him until his boot makes contact with a large, heavy rock.  He stumbles forward, and an extra Odo hand sprouts to catch him, grabbing his arm.

 

“Get  _ off  _ me.”

 

Odo sighs, “Whether you forgive me or not, without me you’d be dead by now.”

 

Quark flinches and wrestles free of his grip.  “Leave me ALONE, Odo.  Why can’t you leave me  _ alone _ ?  Stop saving me.  It’s not fun anymore; it’ll never be fun again, so  _ leave _ ,” Quark shouts, his voice rising in hysteria.  “I’ve got along fine without you, we all have, so please, go  _ away _ .”

 

Quark scampers out from under the blessed shade, his backpack slapping at his back, but he can’t keep up the pace for more than ten minutes before he’s doubled over panting.

 

“Quark, you’re going the wrong way,”  Odo shouts after him, not nearly far enough away, but Quark is too busy catching his breath to pay attention.

 

His eyes become rain clouds, dripping fat saltwater tears -- great, one step closer to dying of dehydration on this stupid prairie -- and really Quark can’t catch a break, and it isn’t fair this type of thing happens to him when he always pays off the right Ferengi officials and makes sure to offer regular bribes to the Blessed Exchequer.  Probably his escape didn’t even matter, because Odo is likely standing right behind him by now, rolling his eyes.  

 

A loud crack reverberates through the air, and then the skies open up and one of the infamous mercurial rainstorms of the region dumps down on them, soaking him to the bone in an instant.  Quark’s hat droops sadly over his ears.

 

“Quark?  Quark, come back!  I…  _ please _ ,” Odo shouts.  He’s farther away than Quark had assumed, but his Ferengi lobes can easily picking up the uncharacteristic note of panic in Odo’s voice even over the water pounding into the earth.  

 

Odo has never pleaded with Quark in his life, but this doesn’t give Quark more than a second of pause.  Oh, so now Odo is  _ worried  _ about him, because of the  _ rain _ of all things?   Like that changes anything.

 

Ferengi are made for rain!  Now he won’t risk dehydration (a real worry despite the water extractor in his backpack), and this is the type of weather that brings out all the juiciest slugs and beetles from hiding (or at least it would on Ferenginar), so he won’t starve either, no matter how long he wanders around by himself out here.  Or so Quark assumes, but even if he has to resort to chewing on his hat, it’s worth it to continue this journey alone.  He’s practically home.   

 

Well, Quark will show him.  As sure as gravity pulls water from the sky to the earth, Quark’s tenacity is a force of nature.  He’s never been one to give up easily, and he’s not about to start now.  

 

Teeth chattering in the damp, Quark readjusts his backpack and plods onwards, never mind that he can barely see through the downpour and has no idea where he’s going.

 

“Quark, you’re going to get lost!  You’ll never make it by yourself.  You need me,” Odo says, but right now Quark would rather wander in the stupid grass forever than admit Odo might be right about anything.  

 

The rising choked panic in Odo’s voice combined with his next words cause Quark to falter, however.  “Please… I -- I need you, don’t run off.  Something’s wrong.”

 

Reluctantly, Quark turns around, blinking water away from his vision and rubbing his ear slightly to sharpen his hearing.   To his horror, the rain on Odo gives a soft  _ thud _ as if it’s hitting a gelatinous surface that absorbs sound, rather than the firmer impact on flesh.  Thus, Odo is still gooey, even though that can’t be a useful state and even though the temperature has plummeted, which means something is very wrong indeed.

 

“Quark?”  Odo’s voice is small, as if he doesn’t expect Quark to be able to hear him anyway.  “Everything is static -- the water is scrambling my senses.  I’m having trouble keeping solid, and I can’t see anything.  I can’t see you.  You’re probably too far from me by now, but I’m… sorry.  Please come back.”

 

Quark finds his legs moving of their own volition, increasingly faster underneath him until he’s beside Odo again.  “Never underestimate Ferengi hearing, you should know better by now.”  

 

He frantically pulls off his jacket and drapes it around Odo like a rudimentary poncho, the stiff material dulling the impact of the drops.  Odo holds it over his head to shield his face and with some effort manages to locate Quark’s position.  There are track marks embedded in his “skin” where raindrops hit him.  It's disconcerting, to say the least.

 

“You… you’re here.”

 

“And I heard everything, so you can’t take it back now.” Quark shouts into Odo’s streaked face, overly loud in case that helps.  “You were lost without me,” he says, and not just in reference to their current ordeal, a smug grin spreading over his face.  All is not forgiven, but despite everything this does lift Quark’s spirits a little.

 

Odo stares at him a long moment, then says in a flat tone, “Hmph.  We need to go… this way.”

 

They head off in the pointed direction.  It’s unlikely that Odo’s certainty is founded in anything besides his stoicism, but Quark doesn’t have a clue either, and anyway he’d rather blame it on Odo if they get lost.

 

“Now, you owe it to me to explain exactly why it looks like you’re made of the same sticky mud that’s now caked all over my boots.”

  
Odo does, the words pouring out from his mouth like the rain on their heads from above.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> final chapter is forthcoming!


	4. a swirling pit of forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the scene in the art piece this is based on finally happens :-)

The rain has slowed to a languorous drip, and now the cheerful sun peeks its face out from behind several puffy clouds.  The air is crisp and bright, the rain having washed away the anger of the previous heavy heat like a baptism.

 

“What if you turned into a…. Cardassian riding hound?” Quark asks, hopping between rocks to avoid the flooded sludge of the earth.   His boots are already ruined beyond repair, but he’s still reluctant to give them over completely to the mud.  He’s wearing his planetside clothes of course, made from Ferenginar’s premier water repellent fabric  _ (Flobglobbins’ Fabrics -- for the adventurous businessman; keep your profits flowing not your clothes! _ ), and they’re much more comfortable now that he’s not contending with heat rash.  There’s only so much mud that boots made for walking on roadways can take, though.

 

“No.”  Odo’s face is still pock-marked from the rain, but is otherwise functional in the post-storm weather, and at the moment it is contorted with exasperation.

 

“Just as well, those things are terrifying.  Or… a zabathu?  With the plush fur?  That seems comfy.”

 

“No.”

 

Quark misses the raised patch of grass he jumped towards, and mud splatters upwards.   _ Flobgobbins’ Fabrics _ or not, he’s still going to have to commission a new outfit when they get back.  Probably custom-made from Ferenginar, since replacing the resident tailor hasn’t exactly been first priority on the station.  He unsticks his boots from the squelching mud with a grimace.  “Umm… Earth has a creature, it’s got four legs.  I want to say… dog?  It’s got long tail of hair… Ancient hu-mons in Julian’s Alamo program make good use of them.”  

 

“No.”  

 

Quark scowls as Odo smirks at Quark’s ongoing battle with the terrain.  Odo is able to plod straight through the muck unconcerned, and his own “clothes”, gooey-textured though they may be, are spotless.  If Quark could find a way to make Changeling-fabric, well, then he could buy himself a whole solar system of moons.  At the moment, however, he’d settle for being anywhere but here.   Mud and muck and the pleasant humidity in the air are infinitely preferable to the previous heat, but this whole affair is still quite tiresome.  

 

Quark scans the horizon and it’s as it has been for the past hours-- flooded grass in every direction, glimmering in the afternoon sun.  In the distance, the prairie appears to be a giant shallow lake, but up close thankfully it is a patchwork of puddles.  The two of them are utterly alone for miles, and a trickle of terror creeps up his spine at their unsettling vulnerability in such a wide open space.  How he misses the crowded enclosed comfort of his bar… Quark tries to shake off the discontent without much luck, so chatters on to distract himself.

 

“Ok, maybe shifting into something non-living would be easier, for you.  What about a land vehicle?  No, too many parts?  A boat, with a fan on back to push us over the flooding.  Or… a giant wheel, with a cozy seat on top, and I can take a nap until we roll into Shekaal--”

 

“What is it about  _ no _ don’t you understand, Quark,” Odo glares at him sharply.  “I would prefer if we walk in silence, and you stop listing all the things I can’t do to get us out of this mess quicker.  I don’t want to be here, with  _ you _ , any more than you do, so let’s make this as painless as we can.”

 

“Hmmm…” Quark pretends to give this some thought.  “No.”

 

“No?” Odo says, exasperated.

 

“No.”  Quark shrugs and grins.  His eyes flick across the landscape, casting around for something else to talk about.  “‘Part of our Being lies elsewhere, and so does yours,’” he quotes.  “‘Part of our--’  What was it you said?  Their Being?”

 

“ _ Our _ Being,” Odo growls.  “As you’ve repeated for the hundredth time in the past two hours and forty-seven minutes.”

 

“‘Part of  _ our _ ’-- okay, but do they mean  _ their  _ being?  Or  _ yours _ and theirs?  And ‘being’, are you sure that’s what they said, not  _ beings, _ or say  _ anything _ more specific than that?  Because--”

 

“Theirs, mine, ours -- it’s all the same!”  Odo growls and for a moment spikes jut outwards from the back of his neck and his shoulders hunch forwards-- an unconscious attempt at a Tarcassian razor beast.  The protrusions are soft, though, rounded extensions of his beige form, and not in the least threatening.  “And of course I’m sure.  They need me to track down the One Hundred, the rest of the Link.  We are meant to be one.  We’re supposed to be one.”

 

“You don’t seem so sure.”

 

“Well it wasn’t in  _ words _ Quark, they don’t speak  _ Bajoran _ \--”

 

“Or Ferengi.”

 

“Why would they speak--?  Nevermind, we’ve been over this.  We were in the Link, it’s not words.  It’s thought, it’s--  _ knowing _ .  Everything is clear in the Link; communication is perfect.  It’s-- hard to explain, now...”  Odo, frustrated and overly defensive, trails off, glowering at Quark.  Odo crosses his arms, insecure in his attempt at explanation. 

 

“Sooo-rry for being such an inferior being, with my ‘imprecise words,’” Quark says with a sly smirk, “but it sounds more to me like they left you with an inscrutable puzzle deliberately designed to alienate you.  I think it’s the Founders’ obtuse communication that bothers you.  I think you can’t explain it in words, because  _ you’re _ afraid you’re the one misunderstanding them.”

 

“That’s not --” Odo growls, then shakes it off, dismissing Quark’s attempt to get a rise out of him.  “It doesn’t matter.  Whatever’s… happening with me is  _ proof _ there are side effects even after the cure for the morphogenic virus.  I need to find Changelings unaffected by your Federation sabotage.”

 

“They’re not my Federation.  Rule 125, ‘You can't make a deal if you're dead,’ violence only ends in more violence, and less profit.  And I… may not agree with the tactics, but at least they gave you the cure in the end, with the treaty.  Better than your people, blowing up my future customers.”  Quark hastily pushes thoughts of Nog, holding a gun bigger than he is, out of his head.  The war’s over.

 

Odo harrumphs, but a flash of guilt crosses his face, and he looks away.

 

“But you said you didn’t notice anything wrong in the Link, after the ‘cure’, just your scientists did.  Maybe their tricorders were broken; mistakes happen.  Rule number 208, ‘Sometimes the only thing more dangerous than a question is an answer,’ and it’s even more dangerous to believe an answer that isn’t true.  That’s why on Ferenginar, scientists only conduct experiments with conclusions their funding sources agree with, and you always know  _ whose _ truth they’re telling; it’s simpler that way.”

 

“Pah!  I don’t miss hearing you recite your inane rules.  And that’s not how Changeling scientific research works.  It’s more enlightened--”

 

“So enlightened they couldn’t find the cure on their own.”  Quark waggles his head, mocking him, and Odo cuts off, rolling his eyes.

 

“The continued instability of our genetic matrix could be a matter of life and _death,_ Quark. For all I know this has caught up with us all at the same time.  An unaffected control group is a necessity.”

 

“You’re about as likely to find a baby Changeling wandering aimlessly by yourself across the galaxy as you are to solve the case of the Tilavian art theft while regenerating in your bucket.  Pretty stupid mission if you ask me.  And they’re not even paying you, for your troubles!”

 

“I’m an investigator, it’s what I do.”

 

“What you used to do.  Which still begs the question about why you’re  _ here _ .  Did Kira send you?”  Quark says, false oily sweetness dripping into his voice.  “Are you tracking me down for her?  Like a loyal salamander bringing its lover a nest of bog-roach larvae?”

 

While they’ve been talking, the flooded grass of the plains have somewhere along the way faded into more closely resembling a swamp.  A cacophony of croaking frogs and bugs sound like home to Quark, and this helps dispel his earlier uneasy agoraphobia.  A cloying fog has settled low to the earth, the clinging dampness hanging heavy between them.

 

“No, don’t be ridiculous” Odo grunts, pain crossing his face.

 

“Wait.”  Quark comes to a sudden halt, and Odo almost trips over him, splashing all over his jacket.  Quark squints at the dim evening sun, blurred by the fog, hanging low in the sky.   “We’re going the wrong way.”

 

Odo scoffs derisively, the relief at a change of subject obvious in his loose shoulders.  “As if you know better.”

 

“The sun,” Quark gestures frantically.  “It sets in the… east on Bajor.  It’s been falling to our right since it came back out.  Shekaal is northeast of where we started.”

 

Odo jerks his head back and forth, from where the sun is to the evidence of their muddy tracks behind them.  “No, we’re going the right way, I’m certain of it.”

 

Odo continues walking southeast.  Quark rolls his eyes, but follows; it’s not like he’s going to go off on his own.  In his distraction he steps in what looked like a shallow puddle, but ends up with water flooded to his knee, almost twisting his ankle with the sudden misstep downwards.  He growls in frustration, but Odo doesn’t look back.

 

“If  _ you’re  _ certain of it, then it  _ must  _ be right, just like you’re certain about what your nonsense mission means, just like you were certain that you were meant to be part of the Link, that no one else’s life mattered because you got to live in a puddle, not even the one solid who thought she loved you back.  And now you’re not even there anymore, so what did that get you?  You only bought yourself a couple months with  _ them _ , for who knows how many lives.”

 

“You keep saying ‘they’, but we’re all the same Quark.  The Link belongs together; we’re One, and some of us are lost.”

 

“You wouldn’t have bothered to leave the Link, track me down, and fly to the middle of nowhere Bajor, all while a pathetic dripping mess on a wild targ chase, if there was somewhere you’d rather be right now.”  He smirks at Odo’s grimace.  “You’re the one that’s lost.  You need me, you said so.”

 

“That was in a  _ specific _ moment of--”

 

“You can’t take it back.  Admit it, you hated being in that puddle and you couldn’t wait to leave.  I’ll bet you volunteered for their half-baked mission, because you decided after betraying all the silly solids whose lives are beneath you that suddenly paradise wasn’t worth it after all--”

 

“ I’ve never thought that no one else’s life mattered,” Odo says, a strange strangled tone in his voice. “It seemed like a simple choice at the time, or I don’t even remember choosing it just suddenly  _ was, _ I didn’t choose to leave I just did, but… the Link wasn’t what I was led to believe.”  Odo’s eyes are unfocused, and his face is naked, stricken with his own feelings of insignificance, like he’s an insubstantial mass of water vapor and loneliness that could get blown away at any second.

 

Quark’s eyes flick back and forth as he navigates through the hazy cloud of evidence, until all at once a beam of light cuts through and the image sharpens.  It occurs to him that maybe it wasn’t completely Odo’s fault that he left them all; the Link manipulated him, brainwashed him to think it was the  _ only _ choice.  Quark, who feels a stabbing at this thought, pushes it aside in favor of wanting Odo to feel the same ugly gaping pain inside as him, whether it was fair or not.

 

“You didn’t choose to leave, you weren’t chosen for a special mission -- or maybe you were, but -- you were cast out.” 

 

“I--”  Odo winces, his pained eyes confirming.

 

“You still think you’re better than us, and I’ll bet you weren’t exactly welcomed onto the station with open arms.  You have no one,” Quark says, bitterness welling up in him like the bubbles of belching gases released from the decaying greenery of the swamp.

 

“There’s nowhere for me.”  He gasps, the metaphorical breath of a drowning man.  “The Link-- they were wrong; they made me believe I was part of them, but I’m-- I’m not.  Not really.  They promised me a lie.  And there’s no place for me on the station now.  I’m not a solid, and my shifting degrades the longer I’m away from my people, and I have nothing.  Nothing except--”

 

“So you thought, hey I’ll track down ole Quark and terrorize him?  He’ll forgive me when no one else will?  Who do you think I am!”  The words, oily and toxic, drip from Quark’s mouth before he thinks them through all the way.  He wants to find a way to not ache at the sound of Odo’s familiar fluid noises, desperately wants to heal this breach, but all that comes out when he speaks is his own bitterness.  Quark brings himself up to his full (small) height, looming into Odo’s space as they walk as best he can, and spits out, “There’s not enough latinum in the Quadrant to buy back my respect.”  

 

The jelly of Odo’s face delays in settling as he jerks his head back, then his eyes flash with murky anger.  Quark jumps to a dry-looking rock, out of arm’s reach, but before Odo can act, his next step doesn’t hit solid ground.  Instead of the thick marshy grasses of the swamp poking through the flooded bits of land, Quark watches in horror as he realizes that where Odo stepped is flat water unbroken by plant life, and darker. Odo sinks down, panicked look on his face.  

 

Odo flails a bit, splashing everywhere.  Quark yells, “Shift into a balloon!  Into a, a Risian pufferfish!  Uhhh an ice cube!  Ice cubes float!”

 

It happens so quickly, but Quark swears that Odo’s panic shifts into a look of peace before he slips beneath the surface, as if he were giving up, as if death were the only solution.  Normally drowning wouldn’t be an issue for a Changeling, not needing to breathe being the least of reasons, but who knows with Odo’s changed physiology.  

 

What if Odo remains too solid and sinks down forever and can’t get up?  What if he doesn’t want to?  Quark lashing out will be the last thing he heard, and Quark is hurt still, but if Odo doesn’t poke his head out soon it will be like losing him all over again.  What would the Nagus say, if he heard Quark flagrantly denounce Rule #109 ( _ Dignity and an empty sack is worth the sack. _ ) in favor of a refusal to forgive Odo at any hypothetical cost?  Quark had always expected better of Odo -- the constable who was supposed to be the hero, an objective source of justice and adherence to the rules of society -- but he has his own weaknesses just like Quark.  

 

(What if the Nagus had asked him to betray his Federation customers?  What price would that take, for Quark?  A moon, perhaps, and not much more.)

 

Quark frets over this for a moment, too long, staring at the several bubbles floating on the surface of the pond where Odo’s head used to be.  He huffs and puffs, then takes off the hat and the backpack.  

 

“It can’t be that hard,” Quark says, thinking of the time he went swimming with the Sirens of Rixx in his holoprogram, then jumps in after Odo.

 

Water shoots up his nose and immediately regrets this decision.  He kicks around awkwardly, colliding with what might be Odo.  For a “pond” in the middle of a supposedly lakeless swamp-prairie, the water is awfully deep, and Quark hasn’t felt the bottom yet.   Quark reaches down and grabs onto a fistful of Odo’s “shirt”, and it’s almost like trying to hold onto jelly, but once he digs in deep enough he gets enough purchase for Odo not to slip away.  Quark tries kicking  towards the surface, Odo hanging limp in his hands, without much luck.  It’s not that he’s a strong swimmer even on a good day (a flounderer more like), but also the water seems heavier, sluggish like it has gelatin in it.

 

The water filling his ears amplifies the sound of his own pounding heartbeat, the scream of terror in his brain as he flails, so Quark opens his eyes.  The late sun pierces through the murky depths with surprising light, highlighting the strange golden hue of the water surrounding them.  The smooth unconcern around Odo’s peaceful closed eyes soothes Quark’s frantic panic, and Quark grasps him closer so that they’re almost eye level.  

 

Time slows. 

 

Quark and Odo seem to stop sinking, buoyed in place.   

 

The bubbles drifting up from the bottom of the watery pit float upwards in slow motion.  

 

Odo, this strange man that has invaded Quark’s every thought since the day he met him is right here with Quark.  Odo, his best enemy, his constant hero, is going to die with him here, unloved forever, and it shouldn’t matter to Quark, not one bit, except that it does.

 

Quark releases the air in his lungs, accepting fate.  The bubble of his breath hovers in the water between them, then settles on Odo’s lipless face. 

Well if this is his last moment alive, Quark may as well fulfill one last wish, a wish that Odo would no doubt be annoyed about to no end if he were to survive.  Quark quirks (one last) smile at the thought of Odo’s look of disgust and outrage, then leans forward into the bubble until it’s an oasis of air engulfing both their mouths.  

 

He presses his lips to Odo, gently, relishing the cool smoothness.  In another time this is what it might have been like.

 

At contact, he-- they?  Quark-- is/are overwhelmed with feelings of the stillness of an early morning lake, water smooth as glass, unsullied by the day ahead.  They kiss in a beam of golden dawn, burning away morning haze, clear and bright and beautiful.  It’s peace and forgiveness and healing.

 

Half of them dissolves into the water, but they are both water and solid -- them, together, both individual and  _ something more _ \-- and now the solid part doesn’t feel anything except the water rushing all around him, swirling.  This must be what drowning is, water hugging close as the womb, back to the beginning.  He sees light behind his eyelids, Divine Treasury at last, then blinks and splutters.  

 

Quark lands on his ass in the mud with a squelch, now only Quark as a separate being filling his lungs with the life-giving of air, and he blinks his eyes open, feeling the loss of that divine connection.  Water retreats from him, pulling away, then reforms in front of him.  It’s a golden mass, then it redefines into Odo with a halo of glowing water around him.  Odo steps out from the water, which stays in place in a vaguely humanoid shape.  

 

The inner fluidity of the watery thing makes a gentle whooshing noise.  Quark takes more several rapid breaths.  “I don’t -- I must not have enough oxygen yet.”  Quark rubs his eyes.  “Whose afterlife am I in?  Where’s Gint?”

 

Odo shakes his head and the rain-streaked marks fill themselves in and his exterior reforms into the textured, firm facsimile of solidity.  The watery shape smoothes its waves, becoming more defined, though unrecognizable as anything but a fluid translucent mass.  Odo throws his arms forward and they lengthen into long tentacles, then snap back into arms.  The watery shape mimics him, its water appendages lengthening then shortening again.

 

“Hey!  I asked a question!”  Quark squawks, scrambling to his feet and attempting to brush himself off.  “What is this?  Who are you? I have a few trinkets in my backpack, you can have them.  I-- I come in peace!”

 

Odo reaches forward to merge his arm with the water-monster’s, linking.  “This is… Shawn.” 

 

“Shawn?” Quark says, incredulous.

 

Odo nods.  “It’s a  [ Bajoran ](http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Bajoran_language) word.  He -- they-- didn’t have a name, but they agree that that one will be appropriate for the purpose of humanoid communication.  They are why I was drawn to Bajor, why I led us so far off course.  I just didn’t know before now.”

 

Odo locks eyes with Quark, as if seeing him for the first time.  “You kissed me,” Odo says, cocking his head like a giant curious bird.  Shawn copies the movement beside him.

 

Quark flushes, still looking back and forth between the new Changeling and Odo.  “I thought we were going to die.  It’s been awhile.  Not going to let go without a little last satisfaction.”

 

Odo snorts then smiles.  “You’re disgusting.”

 

Shawn shrugs.

 

Quark shrugs too and grins.

 

There are some experiences that one can’t go through without bonding irrevocably and healing all wounds, and apparently having a makeout-slash-linking session drowning in a pit of sentient goo is one of them.  Quark has had several threesomes in his life, but even considering that one drunk night with Morn and a fire-breathing lizard-winged lady, this one has by far been the strangest.  Quark doesn’t think he minds.  In fact he thinks he could get used to it.

 

\--------

 

_ Our Being lies elsewhere and so does yours _ … By this the Link had assumed that the separation of the Hundred they scattered far away was the crux of their problem; that Changelings weren’t meant to be separated as such, that having all of them together in the Link forever would be the only way for a stable consciousness.  However, it wasn’t just linking with Shawn that stabilized Odo’s morphing matrix, but the kiss with Quark (his constant pest, his dependably annoying criminal) that stabilized the shifting tumult of his inner  _ being _ .  Relationships with solids also form who Odo is, as himself; he can make his own Link between solids  _ and _ other like him.  That’s how they are supposed to live -- not separate from other Changelings of course, but not separate from forming attachments with solids either.

 

On Bajor, after this discovery, Shawn and Odo merge into a giant undulating wave, carrying a screaming but secretly ecstatic Quark onwards to the city.  They all traverse the galaxy together, finding shapeshifters to join them (Odo and Shawn), swindling locals for profit to fund the journey (Quark), and overall healing the rift between humanoid and shapeshifters.  

 

They form their own Link, their own  _ family _ , and live happily ever after, connected, no longer alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shawn is an established Bajoran word for "swamp". It's like they knew I was writing this fic.


End file.
